Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

Youth, hope, and love: To build a new life on a ruined life, To make the future fairer than the past, And make the past appear a troubled dream.

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A solid man of Boston; A comfortable man with dividends, And the first salmon and the first green peas.

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Truly, this world can go on without us, if we would but think so.

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And in despair I bowed my head; "There is no peace on earth," I said; "For hate is strong, And mocks the song Of peace on earth, good-will to men!" Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: "God is not dead, nor doth he sleep! The Wrong shall fail, the Right prevail, With peace on earth, good-will to men!

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Sang in tones of deep emotion Songs of love and songs of longing.

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By unseen hands uplifted in the light Of sunset, yonder solitary cloud Floats, with its white apparel blown abroad, And wafted up to heaven.

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To be strong is to be happy!

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Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon Like a magician extended his golden want o'er the landscape; Trinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and forest Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together.

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Only a look and a voice; then darkness again and silence.

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When one is truly in love, one not only says it, but shows it.

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That was the first sound in the song of love! Scarce more than silence is, and yet a sound. Hands of invisible spirits touch the strings Of that mysterious instrument, the soul, And play the prelude of our fate. We hear The voice prophetic, and are not alone.

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The day is done; and slowly from the scene the stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, and puts them back into his golden quiver!

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In ourselves are triumph and defeat.

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When Christ ascended Triumphantly from star to star He left the gates of Heaven ajar.

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People of a lively imagination are generally curious, and always so when a little in love.

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For it is the fate of a woman Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost that is speechless, Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of its silence. Hence is the inner life of so many suffering women Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean rivers Runnng through caverns of darkness.

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I hear the wind among the trees Playing the celestial symphonies; I see the branches downward bent, Like keys of some great instrument.

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Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives, When martyred flowers breathe out their little lives, Sweet as a song that once consoled our pain, But never will be sung to us again, Is they remembrance. Now the hour of rest Hath come to thee. Sleep, darling: it is best.

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No one is so accursed by fate, no one so utterly desolate, but some heart though unknown responds unto his own.

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Autumn arrives like a warrior with the stain of blood upon his brazen mail. His crimson scarf is rent. His scarlet banner drips with gore. His step is like a flail upon the threshing floor.

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